


An Arrow ~1979

by kayeblaise



Series: SVT Immortals AU [7]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Gen, Team as Family, honestly we all need this after loch each, none of them are human, the year is approximate i can't decide on my own damn timeline lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeblaise/pseuds/kayeblaise
Summary: DK knew he was putting himself in danger if he approached, but he couldn’t find it in himself to ignore the dead or dying creature left abandoned at the edge of the field.





	1. Chapter 1

DK knew he was putting himself in danger if he approached, but he couldn’t find it in himself to ignore the dead or dying creature left abandoned at the edge of the field.  He couldn’t understand who would have been responsible for hunting down the kid, but the arrow sticking straight up out of their shoulder, synthetic feathers fluttering like a flag, was grim and final.

The mark seemed too precise to be an accident.  He slid forward cautiously, keeping low to the ground in case the hunter was still nearby.  It seemed unlikely, now.  He’d been watching for a while.

He crawled his way forward, noting how still the figure was. 

Within arms-reach, he brushed at gnats that were swarming curiously around the wound then inspected the injury himself with morbid fascination.  The arrow had entered cleanly.  There wasn’t much in the way of blood.

He put a hand to the side of their neck.  They still felt warm but it could have been the glow of the afternoon sun holding off the chill of an early autumn night. His own hands were clammy.  He’d been away from the river for a while and it was starting to get to him. 

He pressed harder against their neck and finally felt a pulse push back.

A new weight settled into his chest where his heart beat against it.  He had no idea what to do now.  He couldn’t just leave them, and he worried that if he made the long journey back to the house and returned it would be too late.

Acting before thinking it through, he reached for his bag and pulled out the knife tucked into the side pocket.  He prayed for forgiveness for however much this would hurt.  And it would hurt.  He knew from experience.

The head of the arrow had made a clear exit through the other side or he wouldn’t have tried it.  The last thing he needed was to lose the arrowhead in the shoulder.  He put the knife against the arrow and scraped at the fins, gritting his teeth and repeating apologies inside of his head.  After a minute he’d managed to remove most of the feathering.  He twisted off the nook from the aluminum shaft and then paused.

He had to make sure it was quick.  He counted to three.  On three he pushed the arrow through the rest of the way, pulling it from the nose end to make it faster.  It took all of two seconds.  The scream echoed for much longer.

DK’s eyes widened and he froze between trying to comfort them in their pain or fleeing out of sight.  The field answered with unbroken peace, the air filled with the distant staggering sound of bird calls and the rustling undercurrent of an unfelt breeze.  Nature was indifferent.

He looked down at the arrow in his hand and then at the open wound that had started bleeding again.  He tossed the arrow towards the tree line and pushed forward, putting a hand just below the arrow mark to make sure there was nothing left behind.

A delayed “Ow,” hiccupped out of the figure as they fluttered near full consciousness. For once, he was glad for the use of his ability.  The kid would be too injured to act on it, but it might calm him.  He sang something wordless and light.

“Let go of me.” There was anger and maybe a hint of fear in his tone.

Suspecting the other’s pain was clouding the effectiveness of his voice, he tried again, digging into his bag for something he could use to press against the wound.

“Stop singing and tell me who you are.”

DK’s voice faltered.  “What?”

The kid was temporarily incapacitated as he hissed in pain, back arching off the ground.  When the fit passed, he threatened, “I could still kill you like this. Don’t think I won’t.”

DK settled back off of his heels, looking at the other in confusion.  There was something disconcerting about the doe-like roundness of the kid’s black pupils and the poised threat of his words.  “How are you doing that?” he asked.

“Doing what?”

“You should be calm.  Or something.”

The boy looked suspicious and confused.  It suited the wryness of his features.  “Why?”

DK was unaccustomed to explaining himself.  The people he talked to already understood.  “I come from a house of immortals and there are only a few people there that my voice has no effect on.”

Breathing hard, but gaze focused beyond any hint of pain, the kid asked clearly, “Who are you?”

“DK.” He stuck out a hand automatically before it occurred to him the other wasn’t in any shape to be giving a handshake.  He dropped his arm again. 

The kid eyed him with a mix of interest and distaste.  “I mean _what_ are you?”

“A siren.” The lie came easier now.  It was almost second nature.  He could recall the story in perfect detail though none of it was true.  _He was cursed by an ancient being who was jealous of his voice.  He’d been human once._   He liked to believe it most days.  It was nice to think being human was second nature to him.  “I have to be quiet around almost everyone so no one drowns in the river.”

“That’s shit luck.”

The ease of the swear suggested that the other might not be as young as he first seemed.  It was true he was thin and reedy, which would not help in his survival, but he sounded tough.  It reminded DK of the edge that Woozi’s voice sometimes took on.

“You were shot.”

“I know,” He answered.  Against what would have been DK’s better judgement, the kid had started to roll experimentally to his side, as if preparing to jockey himself into a seated position without straining his injured shoulder. The attempt ended with a frustrated whine of pain.  The kid’s supporting hand dug harshly into the grass.  Some of the blades tugged from the ground.  It was hard to tell if he was resting his forehead on the dirt or not where his hair blocked his face. 

“Um, kid, I don’t think what you’re doing will help—”

“I am not a kid,” he complained in a timbre that failed to prove his point, “I’m The8.”

“Oh, well, The8, I don’t think that will help.”  The name seemed strange to him, but he wasn’t an expert.  It also occurred to him that without the assistance of his voice he didn’t know how to be particularly persuasive.

Ignoring the suggestion that he stay put, The8 continued to push himself up until he managed with great effort to get into a seated position.  Several times DK made a start as if to help but faltered.  Whoever The8 was, he seemed unalarmed by the circumstance he’d found himself in.  He also seemed accustomed to more respect than his appearance invited. He was hugging his arm against his body, folded toward his steepled knees, but his voice had lost none of its bite. Half squinting in the brightness of the cooling day, The8 blew a piece of hair away from his face and asked, “This house of yours, does it have anything of use?”

“Like medicine?  Yeah.”

“Good.  Then let’s go.”

“Wait, really?”  He thought he would have to do more convincing than that.

“I didn’t plan on staying out here if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

The8 was already moving to stand.  DK was temporarily in his shadow as he said, “No, I think it’s a good idea.”  He stood up after him but noticed that a rivulet of blood had passed over the fingers The8 gripped under the wound.

Without waiting to be asked, he bent down and pulled an old tee-shirt from his bag and proceeded to rip off a strip with the help of his knife.

The8 jerked back, shooting him a suspicious look that highlighted all of the sharp points in his features.

“Just so it won’t bleed,” he explained.

“Right,” The8 said, as if to prove he had known all along. 

DK made a point of putting the knife back into the bottom of the bag pocket where it wasn’t so easily accessible to show that he meant no harm.

The8 let him wrap his arm but only begrudgingly.  As if to make sure he knew that this was only happening because he allowed it.

“Are you going to be okay to—”

“Let’s go,” he interrupted, already taking off ahead. 

DK waited behind for a moment, wondering why The8 was taking the lead when he didn’t know where they were going.

This seemed to occur to the other a moment later when he stopped and turned back, still supporting his injured arm, and said, “Go on.”

He made easy work of catching up, and although he didn’t know the roads, he knew exactly where home was.  No matter where he was, he always knew the direction home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a quick intersession in the big scheme of things but here's to giving DK his own voice for once!
> 
> More to come with this one soon. It's mostly all finished!


	2. Chapter 2

Several times DK had watched The8 stumble and had been rejected in his offers to help, but in the past half hour, he’d been allowed to offer occasional support as long as he didn’t make a show of it.

He was surprised when The8 said, “Let’s stop for a second.”

Their path had taken them through the relative shelter of trees and fields away from sight of the roads, but they still had a long way to go.  The sun was already painting the sky as its descent touched the horizon.

The8 pulled away and walked the final few feet off the path.  He navigated the difficulty of getting to the ground on his own by pressing his back to a tree and sliding down the trunk to settle at its roots.  He held onto his shoulder the entire time and hadn’t yet let go.  Even though DK had learned better than to call the other “kid,” he felt a strange tug to see him struggle just to lower himself to the ground.  The tree roots were settled around him like coils of snakes, but he seemed comfortable enough there to close his eyes.

The air had cooled rapidly, and DK shrugged inside his jacket.  His hands were deep in his pockets but the persistent breeze had cooled them past the point of warming up.  A sinking feeling settled in his chest when he took in the rapidly setting sun.  They shouldn’t wait for long.

He looked back at The8, who was pressing his head back against the tree trunk in a way that emphasized the rough drag of his breath.  His eyes were screwed shut, and DK felt like he was intruding to see him in pain.  The8 had been valiantly hiding it with sarcasm and pride through the first part of their journey, but DK knew he must hurt.

“Aren’t you cold?” He wondered as he crossed the distance and sat hesitantly on a tree root opposite the place where he sat.

“No.”

DK wasn’t sure if that was possible as he tucked his own hands under his arms to try to restore some hint of warmth.  The breeze ruffled at them both although the trees gave partial protection.

He wound up drawing shapes in the pale dirt with the toe of his shoe as he waited for The8 to finish resting. He couldn’t relax enough to close his eyes and try the same.  The chill of early autumn always carried a misgiving of magic.  The empty space of cool air, filled with a buzz of energy, rushed at his spine.   After a few minutes he couldn’t bear to be sitting in that instability, saying nothing in the presence of someone he could actually talk to.

“Do you know who shot you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

The response was a clear dismissal, but it made DK all the more curious.  “Was it an accident?”

The8 made a point to lower his head so DK could see him roll his eyes. “Sure.  It was an accident.”  The complaint in the answer made him sound older again.

DK studied him, wondering how old he looked compared to the other.  He didn’t spend much time looking in mirrors.  Maybe he seemed young, too.

“Why are you called The8?”

“I have 8 siblings,” he said shortly as if that was an answer, and DK couldn’t tell if he was lying. 

When this seemed to give DK pause, The8 closed his eyes again and shuffled into a more comfortable position.  Anytime the breeze pushed at his hair DK waited to see if he shivered.  He had no proof yet, but The8 was pulled so tightly in toward his core that he figured he must have been lying to say he wasn’t bothered by the chill.

“You’re not cold at all?”

“No.”

“Do you have a name besides The8?”

A sigh. “None of your business.”

When DK didn’t immediately ask another question, The8 cracked open an eye.  He shifted his back against the tree trunk again. “You wouldn’t understand my name.  You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.”

DK accepted the answer and started to rip apart a leaf he’d found resting by his shoe.  He let another minute go by and watched him relax somewhat under the influence of the quiet.

It wasn’t that The8 was the first person he’d ever met.  He was, though, the first person that DK had met of his own accord, at least in a circumstance where he wasn’t casting out bait in his other state of mind:  the one he felt distant to at the house or with the coin’s weight around his neck or now, for some reason, in the company of someone he could talk to without harm.

He wondered where The8 had come from.  He didn’t look quite like any of the other people he’d met.  He wasn’t looking quite the same as he had before, though, either.

There was an odd sheen to his skin.  And he could tell that his jaw was clenched tightly.  From this angle, the dark stain of the white wrapping around his arm was visible.  A small amount of blood had leaked through the bandage.  Wordlessly, DK got up, walked the few steps between them, and dropped into a crouch.  Before the other could protest he clapped a hand against his forehead as he’d seen Wonwoo do before.

“What—”

“You have a fever, don’t you?  You’re hot.”

The8 ruffled but instead of looking tough, the irregular softness of his features came through.   “This is what warm bloods always feel like, right?  It’s like living inside a furnace.”  He squirmed and pulled at his collar.

“I’m not sure what that means.”

The8 frowned at him with unusual focus, “You don’t know what a furnace is?”

He knew what a furnace was, they had one at the house.  It looked like a metal octopus with fewer arms.  He was going to say as much, and ask what warm bloods were when he was interrupted by the thought of Jeonghan chastising him for being careless.  Maybe he was supposed to pretend he knew what warm bloods meant.  Maybe everyone knew but him. 

He waited too long to answer, because The8 went on, “Guess you don’t have a furnace at this house of yours.”

“It’s not my house.  I don’t really live there.  I just visit sometimes.”

This seemed to strike The8 a bit, because he nodded without sarcasm or a rebuttal.  DK wondered if he had sounded sad when he said it, because The8’s expression seemed to indicate something like sympathy.  It was disquieting.  He was supposed to be careful with secrets. 

“We should keep going, right?  It’s going to be dark soon.”

Although he had been expecting a protest, The8 nodded his acceptance.  “How much further?”  The question was the most vulnerable thing The8 had admitted to thinking all day.

“I think it’s only another hour until we’ll be there.”  He didn’t know how to measure in distance, he just knew they weren’t there yet and that they were going in the right direction.  He smiled to indicate confidence he didn't have.

The8 nodded and held out his good arm, allowing DK to help him up.

Whether he was feeling it or not, The8’s arm was cold to the touch.  His head was warm though.  DK felt his unsteadiness on his feet and put an arm at his waist.  The8 accepted the support.  DK pledged that he wouldn’t ask any more questions, but he couldn’t stay quiet.  A flow of harmless observations left him as they continued on, the red sky dimming to gray as they proceeded slowly toward the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to comment respond and head to bed. I am tired as heck!!! More to come!


	3. Chapter 3

At the quarter rising of the moon, The8 finally slipped so far down in his hold that he dropped and hit the ground.  He refused all attempts to help him back up.

“No. I can’t. I’m done.”

The thought of taking a rest was agreeable to DK, but he knew that The8 losing steam wasn’t out of simple exhaustion.  He needed help.  “We can’t stop yet,” he urged, but The8 pulled his arm out of his grasp and made a painful sound at the jarring of his shoulder that rung warning bells in DK’s head. 

No amount of persuasion would be enough to reach The8 now.  He was already rolling to lie down flat, his eyes shut, his breath dragging through his nose.

For the first time DK saw the spider web of veins and muscle at The8’s neck, as if the effort of just laying there was drawing the life out of him in the pale moonlight.  The grass was tall enough to hide him.  He would be invisible in the darkness to anyone who wasn’t next to him as DK was. 

The whole thing struck him as odd, suddenly, like the moment was a singular occurrence in his life and he couldn’t think of anything else like it.  He lacked a sense of time to measure his life against, yet there were rare occasions when he’d been in the right frame of mind to mark something as significant, but most of his life was just an impression of himself that he could barely describe.  The only moments etched with any certainty at all had to do with the house. He wondered if that was because of the change of scenery or because he only visited in times when he was aware of himself enough to go in human disguise.  The cool of this night at the edge of the forest, though, he could actively feel settling into his memory with a permanence he was rarely aware of.  He had never been responsible for anyone, as he supposed he was now. Maybe that was why it felt more real than most things. While he drifted in consideration of the thoughts, The8 had stilled.

“Hey,” he reached out and The8 sucked in a big breath. 

“What?” he complained.

DK could see well in the dark, and The8 was getting visibly worse for wear.  His eyes were dark-rimmed and his face pale. The wound had been leaking blood for a few hours now.  It had slowed to an ooze but hadn’t stopped.  The skin around it was hot.  “Don’t go to sleep. I think we’re close now.”

There was a pause.  And then his voice, “This is stupid.”

“What is?”

“Being human.”

DK couldn’t agree:  being human would solve a lot of problems for him. “You’re not human, though,” he said back to the other, “you look like one, but my voice doesn’t do anything to you.”

The8 was quiet and, for a while, DK wondered if he had lost the fight with consciousness.  His hair obscured his eyes, making it hard to tell.  It occurred to him then that maybe The8 was thinking as much as he had been.

“Dragon.”

The word was clipped and surprising.

“You’re a dragon?”

“Yes.  But I’m stuck like this now, so don’t laugh.”

He didn’t feel like laughing.  He felt like lying down on the ground, too, and going to sleep like The8 was about to.  He was tired from wondering and thinking.  Except he knew that it would be a bad idea.  He had to stay awake to keep watch on the woods.

“You can rest for a bit,” he decided, “but not for long.  We need to get to the house.”

“Okay.” 

It was quiet for a while again.  DK kept his eyes trained on the woods. 

Suddenly the other's voice mumbled beside him, “Tell me about it.”

“The house?”  DK had never told anyone about the house before.  He’d never had anyone to tell.  He struggled finding a way to describe it.  “It’s noisy sometimes.  I think that’s better than when it’s quiet. But it’s good.  It’s safe. The people there are like us, which is nice, because they understand.”

“Do you trust them?”

“Of course.”

There had been times early on when he hadn’t.  He recognized, though, that they had no reason to take him in.  Jeonghan and the others were willing to hide what he really was.  They accepted it.  And those that didn’t know at least accepted the lie.  He was grateful for that and for them.

“What about you?” he asked then, “Where do you come from?”

The question must have struck a chord.  The answer took a long time to build and get released to the air.  “Somewhere else.”

“Do you miss it?”

He hadn’t thought the question could be so difficult, but it must have been, because he could sense the quiet sadness rolling off of the other in waves.  The response was dim in its reluctance. “yeah.”

It occurred to DK in a sharp stab of realization that The8 had a whole life of moments and events and people that he probably recalled from beginning to end.  He wondered what that was like and if it was a burden. 

“We could take you there once your shoulder’s fixed.”

“I wouldn’t be welcome.”

He frowned and let the leaves rustle their song against the far-off cry of an owl.  Then he pushed The8 lightly with his fingers until he opened his eyes. “Who shot you?”

“You asked that already.”

“You didn’t answer.”

The8 rolled his head to the side so DK was left with the back of his head.  "I thought you’d have wings.”  There was nothing to indicate that The8 had said the words at all.  He didn’t turn back over to claim them or move very much at all, but the mumbled words could only have come from him. 

“Why?” he wondered back, perplexed by the sudden announcement.

“Seeing as you’re a siren and all.”

“Oh, this is a disguise.”  He said it before he realized it was a mistake.  Being human wasn’t the disguise:  he was supposed to be human—cursed to live as a siren.  He’d already messed up the story and he’d only known the other for a few hours.

This news didn’t bother The8 much at all.  He wouldn't have known the story was wrong.  “I guess I'm like you in some ways, then. Except I can’t change back.”

“Why not?”

The few seconds of silence indicated that The8 was thinking it over.  “You can’t really talk to people, you said, right?”

He shook his head then realized that The8 wasn’t looking at him. “Not really.”

The wait for the other to continue speaking lasted long enough that DK became aware of the crickets and the way his breath was turning into clouds in the cold.  When the words did come, they were low and terrible: 

“Apparently I’ve been a disappointment.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“To my father.”

He pictured a human, first—with the same tall ears, the same round yet intense eyes, but older and wider-jawed—then he realized he should probably be picturing a dragon.

“He’s trying to teach me a lesson, I guess,” The8 finished.

“Is that the reason you can’t go back?”

The8’s fingers crawled over to just below the make-shift bandage on his arm.  He was shivering.  It wasn’t because of the cold, though.  It concerned DK that he could already be so sick.  The arrow wound was a problem, but he hadn’t thought the other would deteriorate so fast because of it. 

He shrugged off his jacket and threw it over The8.  The other’s eyes popped open in surprise, startled by the action.

“You need it,” DK said simply.

“Don’t feel like it.  Feel like I’m burning up.”  He flicked his gaze over to make sure that DK got the note of humor he was trying to share.

A new thought leapt fully formed into DK’s mind.  It came out of his mouth as a question, “How long have you been stuck like this?”

For a long while it didn’t seem like The8 was going to answer.  Then he moved his head back to stare up at the sky.  There was a large gash in the band of clouds above them, the wound full of stars.

“Since he let them shoot me.”

DK didn’t know how to respond to the cryptic statement, but the words sounded like they tasted bitter in The8’s mouth.  He had closed his eyes again, and his face was pinched like he was holding down a fresh wave of pain that washed over him.

DK thought about all that the other had told him.  He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.  It seemed sad, though, that The8 couldn’t go home.  He imagined never being able to return to the house again.  The thought had occurred to him once as he had left one night and had stood in the front garden looking at the light at the windows against the darkened façade.  And he had shivered despite himself.

“Will you ever be able to go back, do you think?”

The question was answered in silence, and he realized The8 was past hearing him.  

He shifted in the grass to take up his watch.  He fought the drop of his own eyelids against the cool air, feeling equally as strong the pull of the night and the darkened façade of the house, however far off it might still be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super tired and past the point of knowing if any of this makes sense, lol. Feel free to harass me in the comments for clarifications.


	4. Chapter 4

He realized the terrible mistake he’d made when he felt his left eye start to twitch for the second time.  He pressed his fingers against the eyelid to hold it shut but the muscles just continued to writhe underneath like worms.  The first time he’d brushed it away as drowsiness, but now he could feel how clammy his hands were.  He’d been away from the water for too long.

He began to scramble to his feet and then caught the dull, gray light glancing off The8’s face:  the sheen of a coating of sweat.  His teeth were clenched in a fitful sleep.

The8 really hadn’t been cold, he realized.  It was him:  his hands.  If he stayed he would be putting The8 in danger, but if he left him alone he'd be vulnerable--unguarded against the night.

The leaves were rustling their whisper like reeds at the water’s edge.  He sat down almost unconsciously and continued to stare.  He wondered if the tickle in the back of his throat would turn to humming, and if it did, if The8 would follow it.  It hadn’t worked before, but he hadn’t been trying.  A haunting of music was buzzing in the back of his head.  Though they were far from the sight of the river’s edge he could feel the gurgle of the water in its secret places under the ground and in the roots of the trees and under his skin. 

There was a tinkling of laughter like faeries in the forest, invisible and primed with excitement. They would feed on his leftovers like scavengers. 

There was no fighting nature. The current pull of things downstream.  Trees grow.  Rivers flow. Kelpies kill.   

For a moment his mind went dark:  a blank in his recollection that was jolted back by something he didn’t recognize.  

The8 was sitting up, pushing himself backward with his heels against the dirt.  He was recoiled away from him but his voice reached out, “DK?” There was a waver in his tone.  The jacket was abandoned in the grass.

He opened his mouth to fumble a response.

Then there was the sound of racing footsteps.

DK tensed, reaching for his bag, undecided yet if he would run or reach for the knife.   

“ _DK_!”

He froze at the familiar voice, trying to strain through the darkness to see the figures racing toward them, still wary of a threat.

Beside him, the fear in The8’s eyes was palpable and strange. 

He whispered a hurried reassurance while he placed the voice. “No, don’t worry.  I just have to be quiet.” But the words had no effect, and The8 wasn’t looking toward the sound of racing footsteps in the dark.  He was looking at DK.

“Hey!  Are you okay?” It was S. Coups who came running up first, the beam of a flashlight bobbing ahead of him.  Joshua was right on his heels. 

Boneless in relief, DK folded back onto the ground, letting his breath exhale into clouds in the air.

S. Coups’s hand fell on his knee as he bent over him, waiting for answers and searching for proof that he was fine.

The beam of the flashlight was blinding in his eyes.  He held up an “ok” sign with his fingers and S. Coups visibly relaxed.  He slid the beam of the flashlight off of DK’s face but kept his hand on his knee.

DK suspected that one of them had the coin.  Although he couldn’t see it, he could feel it like the pull of the moon on the tide and it was a comfort and a sickness at the same time.  It was control he was desperate to hold on to.   

Joshua had started to approach The8, his voice reaching, “It's okay.  It's alright.  We’re friends.”  He kept low and moved like he was approaching a wounded animal, his hands bared to show he meant no harm.

The8’s focus jumped between the three of them, as if unsure who to trust.  DK wanted to rise and go to him, but S. Coups hovered over him still, as if he acting as a barrier between them. 

And that’s when he realized they didn’t understand.  They thought he was hunting--that he'd been trying to hurt The8.  They’d thought he was out of control.  Any reassurance he might have felt at the concern in S. Coups’s voice when he’d come running was squashed.  He didn't even have the voice to explain to them the truth.  He didn’t have the voice to tell The8 who to trust.  He couldn’t say anything, not when his voice was a weapon. It had never frustrated him to the point of tears as it almost did now.

“Coups, something happened to his arm.”  Joshua tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder and drew S. Coups’s attention to the bloodied bandage wrapped around The8’s arm.

“You were helping him?” S. Coups asked privately, and DK nodded back although now he couldn’t be sure that some of The8’s fear wasn’t directed at him.

S. Coups patted his knee then offered a hand to help him up.

Once on his feet, the ground felt secure, the rush of water gone, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from The8.  Joshua had managed to get a hand of support onto his uninjured shoulder.

“You must have prayed at some point,” S. Coups explained, anticipating the question DK couldn’t ask.  He looked over at Joshua, who was too focused on The8 to notice.  “Joshua knew.” 

Already, The8 seemed to be untensing under Joshua’s presence, but when he noticed DK, there was a moment of hesitation that broke through in his eyes.

DK was stripped voiceless, but he opened his mouth, wanting terribly to say something.  He couldn’t, though.  Not with the others there.

S. Coups must have noticed his focus, but he misread the apprehension. “We’ll make sure he’s fine and get him back where he needs to go.”

DK didn’t know how to mime, _he’s one of us_ or even _he might know what I am_.  He didn’t know how to explain any of it.  Even though it wounded him to know they didn’t trust him, that didn’t stop him from trusting them.  He couldn’t blame them for their thinking.  He was human by disguise only.  He was a monster 7 days a week and they weren't.

S. Coups took hold of his elbow and stepped in closer to mumble, “You did a really good thing here.”

DK nodded.  S. Coups must really have meant it, because he didn’t move until he saw that he understood.  Of the three who knew what he was—not a siren, not a human, but something much worse—S. Coups was the one who had never seemed to accept it.  It had made DK cautious around him, but it made his reassurance now all the more welcome.

When he tried to pull away, S. Coups’s grip on his arm became stronger.  And this time he leant in to ask, “The fishing boat last month.  Was that you?”

DK didn’t blink or look away until S. Coups asked, “Did you take advantage of it?”

He let his eyes swell with guilt.  It wasn’t one of those moments that stuck in his mind as significant.  He did his work when he had to.  That’s what Jeonghan had taken to calling it:  his work.  He knew S. Coups hated that.  He said killing people wasn’t business.  DK didn’t like it either.  A kelpie had no concept of business:  just purpose and survival. 

Yet S. Coups didn’t seem upset as he had expected, instead he said steadily, “Okay.  I thought so. We’ll bring your jacket back tomorrow.  We’ll leave it at the usual spot.”

And that was enough to convince him that S. Coups meant it:  he’d done a good thing, but he had to go back to the water.  He supposed it was best to leave the jacket for The8.

“Go,” S. Coups granted the permission he was looking for, “We’ll take care of it.”

He left the jacket, but he headed toward where his bag was abandoned in the grass.

“Wait,” the voice was so lifeless that at first he thought it wasn’t directed toward him, he kept on his path to retrieve his bag but he kept hearing it, “Wait. . .”

“DK he means you.”

Joshua’s words finally directed him to listen.

The8 already seemed stable enough to keep his head steady and his eyes focused.  There was nothing like fear anywhere in his weak confusion. “You’re not going home with them?” 

The world narrowed and DK was left with nothing but The8’s insistent eyes and his own hesitation.  He was mute, but not for the typical reason.  Was he heading home?  Or was he heading away from it?

He looked helplessly at Joshua because he couldn’t say anything.  He couldn’t answer even if he knew the answer. 

“Not tonight,” Joshua answered on his behalf, seeming to read DK as if he was translucent and all of his questions and feelings were laid bare.  The quick intelligence in his eyes suited him much better than the fog that DK had seen on other days.

Without warning, The8 made a valiant attempt to get to his feet.  Joshua had to catch him halfway and prop him up until he’d steadied. 

Part of DK wished that The8 had barked his usual complaints, but he apparently didn’t have the energy for that.

Instead, The8 moved forward an uncertain step to bring himself closer to where DK was standing.  Then he threw his good arm over DK’s shoulder in what was probably the best hug he could manage.  Neither of them seemed entirely sure in the action, the procedure unpracticed with the awkward swing of human limbs that were still and would always be unnatural.

“Thank you,” The8 said to him, his voice by his ear, “when I’m restored one day you’ll be rewarded for this.”

DK was glad that The8 couldn’t see the grin that broke across his face.  Although the words had all the markers of authority, he could feel the genuine affection in them.  He tried to reign in his fondness before he stepped away.  The8 would complain if he saw it there.

“I’ll see you soon,” the other asked more than said.  It was the second most vulnerable thing that The8 had admitted to wondering all day. 

DK nodded, since he didn’t need words to answer.

Finally, Joshua lent his support and brought The8 the first stumbling steps away.  DK expected S. Coups to follow, but he stayed, and looked at DK with a curious expression as if he was seeing him for the first and 100th time.  Then he pulled the coin from his pocket.  “If this helps any, you’re welcome to come home.  You don’t have to go. I just assumed you couldn’t stay.”

DK watched after The8 and Joshua who were already on their way.  He hoped that the twist of his expression illustrated that although he was certain home was in the same direction for all of them—he couldn’t go.  That was his true curse:  he _did_ have to leave, even if he didn’t want to.  Even if his compass arrow pointed home in the opposite direction of where he had always lived.

The slip of the coin back into S. Coups’s pocket showed he understood.  He paced over to where the jacket was abandoned and picked it up.  “I’ll bring this back to you tomorrow. Unless you’re able to come pick it up.”

The peace offering brought a hint of a smile onto his face that S. Coups echoed.  Then he too stepped up and pulled him into a hug that was much more comfortable and certain, though it caught him off-guard.  “I’m proud of what you did here, okay?” It was all he said, and he didn’t look for an answer, but the hug was warm and DK thought he finally understood what The8 had meant earlier by warm-blooded.  It was the same feeling as home. 

“Have a good night, DK.”

He returned a small wave.

When they left, they left in their opposite directions.  DK disappeared from sight first as he was swallowed into the darkness of the early autumn night.

 


End file.
